


Love Is

by AkuChibi



Series: What the Heart Wants [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Medical Conditions, Romance, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkuChibi/pseuds/AkuChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is a lot of things. But in the end, love is them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, part 3 of this little series or whatever it is. There might be more to come - who knows. I'm not too sure about this one, but oh well, here it is.

“I must admit, I am surprised to see you again, Kevin.”

Dr. Syan is professional and polite, everything that is expected of him. I relax into the easy atmosphere which is familiar to me, as I had several sessions with him some months ago. After spending the past two weeks driving myself crazy, I scheduled another appointment to at least talk to someone about it.

“I didn’t think I’d be back,” I tell him honestly. After our last session seven months ago, I thought I was better. We talked through my issues of getting close to anyone outside of my family because of my condition. I thought I was better, and I was.

I was fine until three weeks ago, when Liam dropped a bombshell.

“You’ve been seeing Liam, right?” I ask quietly.

He knows who Liam is; I spoke of him often when I was in therapy before. I didn’t realize how much back then, as our friendship was still young and new, but looking back, it is all so clear. Even then, I liked him. Truly and wholly liked Liam.

And now…

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss it,” Dr. Syan says apologetically, looking at me over the rim of his wireframe glasses. “Just as your visits are confidential, so are his.”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to know what he talked about,” I tell him, even though that’s a lie.

Liam suddenly decided he had to go back to therapy in early January – three months ago. I’m curious to know why he’s back in therapy, and if I’m the cause of it. I hope I’m not, because I’m trying so hard to be supportive of him. Trying and probably failing miserably.

“Then what is it you wish to discuss?”

I drag in a slow breath, biting thoughtfully on my lower lip. I don’t know how to say it, so bluntly is probably for the best. “He has a heart condition,” I blurt out, looking at Dr. Syan for a reaction, but he’s as stoic as always.

“Is that a problem?” he asks.

“No, I mean… yes, I… I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I… I like him. A lot.”

“And is that a problem?”

“No. No, we’re… We’re together.”

A smile spreads across my face even as I think about it, and I know I am totally, hopelessly lost. Lost to the essence that is Liam.

It’s been three months, one week, two days, a handful of hours and too many seconds since New Year’s, when Liam and I kissed on his couch as the ball dropped. Since I finally gave into my dark-haired, green eyed Australian. Liam is amazing – he puts up with me, no matter what. He doesn’t worry about the fact I can’t feel very much due to my condition – congenital analgesia, or the inability to feel pain – and how it doesn’t quite let me feel pleasure, either. He doesn’t see it as a problem when a lot of other people would and have.

He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I enjoy spending time with him. I like him a lot. I adore him.

Which just makes this harder.

“I’m happy for the two of you,” Dr. Syan says. “Are you happy with the relationship?”

I nod. “The relationship is great – that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?” One thick brow lifts in question.

I shake my head, sighing heavily. I don’t know how to say this, because I don’t quite understand it myself, but nevertheless I have to try.

Because it’s been driving me crazy.

“He has Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome,” I murmur, squirming uneasily in my seat. The chair is comfortable, cushioned and everything. It’s not uncomfortable in the slightest, and yet I squirm. “He… has half a heart.”

And that is why I’m here.

Because Liam only has half a heart. He’s sick. He doesn’t look it – his eyes are bright as ever, his skin isn’t overly pale, there aren’t rings around his eyes… He seems fine, but he’s not. And now that I know about it, I can’t _un_ -know about it. Now it’s all I see – the slightest darkness under his eyes, and I’m pushing him down on the couch and telling him to take a nap. The slightest sneeze, and I’m telling him to take some medicine so he doesn’t get sick.

I try very hard to quell these urges, these reactions. It doesn’t work.

“I see,” Dr. Syan says. If this is a surprise to him, he certainly doesn’t show it. Somehow, I think he already knows about this. Perhaps it is the topic Liam discusses with him.

“I… I don’t…” I stop and take a breath, trying again even as I continue to squirm in my seat. “I thought I was okay with it. I made a care plan.”

“A care plan for Liam?” he asks, mostly to clarify, and I nod minutely. “I see. And what did Liam think of this?”

I smile faintly. “He was happy.”

So happy, because I didn’t walk out on him like he thought I did. I left, sure, but I came back with a plan of action. A plan to keep him healthy and whole.

“He… His doctors said he wouldn’t live to see twenty.”

My voice is flat and hollow – it sounds strange even to me. Dr. Syan’s brows furrow ever so slightly, the closest he’s ever come to frowning.

“He’s twenty-three now,” I tell him, attempting to get my voice away from that flat tone, but it’s incredibly hard. This feel so surreal, talking about it, knowing it’s true. Like it’s not really me sitting here, telling Dr. Syan this. Like it’s not really me, worrying about Liam. But it is.

“I see,” he says slowly.

He must see a lot – he always mentions it.

“He could… I mean… I know I’m being paranoid, but he could die any day.”

That’s what worries me. That I will wake up one morning – _we sleep together almost every night now_ – and roll over to find him dead. Or receive a phone call and arrive at the hospital too late. At night I dream of standing over a fresh grave, the scent of disturbed dirt filling my nostrils. I wake gasping for fresh air.

“Have you spoken to Liam about this?”

I swallow and shake my head. “He doesn’t want me to… treat him differently. And I’m trying – I’m trying so _hard_ to not baby him, but I just… it’s hard. If he gets sick… or strains his heart…”

My head drops, then, and I’m unable to stop it. My chin dips toward my chest and my eyes fall closed as I slouch in the chair, dragging in a slow breath which is meant to be calming, but in reality does anything but.

I’m as on edge as I have been these past few weeks.

I thought it was okay; I told Liam it was fine.

And it is – I’m not angry with him. I’m not going to run out on him like he worries I will.

I’m not going to leave him. If I tried I wouldn’t get far.

But I worry about him. I worry about fresh graves, chiseled stones, disturbed dirt and late-night phone calls. I worry about rolling over to a too-slack face. I worry about catching a suddenly limp and heavy body.

I worry.

It’s this inner pain I can’t handle. I don’t have any way of dealing with it, because this is new and foreign to me. It hurt when my parents died, but that is the extent of my pain. I can’t physically feel pain, or pleasure, or much of anything, but this isn’t physical. This is all mental and it’s killing me.

I can’t sleep.

I wake more tired than when I went to bed.

It’s only getting worse as the weeks pass.

“I can’t discuss it with him,” I tell Dr. Syan, who remains silent, carefully scribbling notes on his little clipboard. The scratch of the pen is grating. “If I mention it, he’ll get worried, too. Worried about me leaving or something. I can’t… I can’t add that to his condition.”

Worry is a heavy feeling. I am almost certain it would strain his heart. His already fragile heart.

His warm, open, loving heart.

“So you wish to discuss it with an outsider,” he says.

I nod slowly. “I guess. I don’t… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

I just had to go somewhere, and Kelly – my sister – is away on her anniversary with her husband. They won’t be back until next week; it’s been a month-long thing. I haven’t even been able to tell her about Liam’s condition yet. I’m not looking forward to the conversation.

I don’t have any other friends I can talk to about this.

So I returned to Dr. Syan.

“What are you afraid is going to happen?” he asks me.

I close my eyes. “He could die any day.”

“Can he? Or are you projecting your fears?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will he just suddenly collapse, or will there be signs?”

Liam said there will be signs when his condition worsens. He didn’t say _if_ it worsens. It _will_ worsen at some point, and that’s what scares me. What will these signs be? Will they be truly noticeable, or will we miss something serious and not get him help in time?

This room is tiny. I never noticed before.

I jump to my feet. “I’m sorry – I’m wasting your time.”

I all but flee toward the door.

“Kevin – you came here of your own volition,” Dr. Syan says, his smooth voice stopping me with my hand hovering over the handle. “You came because that’s what you want, what you think you need. I will listen to whatever you have to say.”

It’s tempting. So very tempting to just turn around and spit out everything that’s rolling around in my head, but I don’t.

I can’t.

I throw open the door and leave.

xXx

I pick up Liam’s meds on the way back to his apartment. I haven’t returned to my apartment in at least a week, if not longer. Somehow, it doesn’t feel right to be there anymore. I prefer to stay at Liam’s. I don’t know when his apartment became more like home than mine, but I honestly am not complaining. His apartment is much nicer than mine, and bigger, and his bed is very comfortable.

Liam didn’t ask me to pick up his meds, but I know they are in so I pick them up anyway. He doesn’t ask about things like this – I wouldn’t even know the meds are in except I listened to the voicemail. Liam has a house phone – a cordless phone with its cradle on the kitchen counter, near the fridge.

I was home alone and checked the voicemail, and learned his meds were in.

He’s so secretive about all of this. He doesn’t want any help. He doesn’t want my behavior toward him to change, but how can it not? How can I not treat him differently now that I know?

I rest my forehead against the steering wheel as I stop outside the apartment complex, taking a few moments to breathe and regain my stability. I don’t know when I became this – _emotional_. I don’t know when this started to bother me so much. Liam is fine; he isn’t showing any signs of declining health. So I have no reason to worry. Nothing has changed, except everything has.

After a moment, I feel steady enough to exit the car. I make my way to the third floor of the apartment building and pull out Liam’s key. My key, I correct myself, smiling fondly at it as I put it into the lock. I push the door open and take his meds to the kitchen as my phone buzzes in my pocket.

It’s a text from Liam.

**_From: Liam 6:41pm_ **

**_I’ll be home late so go ahead and eat_ **

I frown at the message. Liam works as a cook in a restaurant about eight blocks away. He walks there and back every day, no matter how many times I offer to take him there and pick him up. With my condition, my choice in jobs are limited because I could seriously injure myself at work and not know it, and cause everyone a multitude of problems. I work as a cashier at a grocery store. Nothing fancy, and the pay isn’t that great, but at least it’s something.

Even so, I find myself paying for an apartment I can barely afford when I’m not even staying there much anymore.

I wish Liam would let me take him to work and back, if I’m able. At least take him or drop him off, one of them.

I send Liam back a quick reply.

_To: Liam 6:41pm_

_Everything ok_

Liam doesn’t usually work overtime; he’s usually at the apartment by seven. He should already be on his way back by now.

**_From: Liam 6:42pm_ **

**_Yah but third shift cook is delayed so im working until he gets here_ **

I close my eyes, taking a slow breath. Liam wouldn’t have this job unless he could handle it, but he’s already worked six hours. Six hours of moving around in a hot, stuffy kitchen working over a hot grill.

_To: Liam 6:43pm_

_How much longer_

He doesn’t need to be working extra hours.

He doesn’t reply this time; his break must be over.

I put my phone down on the kitchen table and turn toward the fridge to grab a bottle of water, something to distract myself.

Everything is fine. Liam is fine. He doesn’t work that often; only four days a week, and usually only six hours. They know of his condition, apparently; they won’t keep him for very long.

I’m worrying for nothing, like always.

I want it to stop.

xXx

Time passes. Another month goes by uneventfully. I don’t return to see Dr. Syan, though a part of me wants to. Liam is fine, though; he’s as friendly as ever, as talkative and chipper, and my worry ebbs away. It gets easier to smile.

Currently, we are together in bed. It’s late; Liam likes to read before bed, so he’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, reading his book. Liam wears glasses. They look good on him. He only wears them when he’s reading a book at night. I smile fondly at him, my head cushioned in my pillow. The only light is that of his bedside lamp, and light doesn’t bother me, so I am usually able to get to sleep rather easily. I usually fall asleep to the sounds of him carefully turning the pages, his quiet breaths filling the air.

Tonight I just watch him through half-lidded eyes.

He looks adorable with those glasses, and that half-smile which forms on his face occasionally after he’s read something he likes. Watching him is entrancing; I can’t look away. I don’t want to. Here, with him, I feel normal.

I’ve never felt normal before.

It’s a nice feeling.

I don’t realize his fingers have caught my own until he gives them a hard squeeze, and my eyes open more to glance between us. There, he has captured my hand, our fingers entwined. When I look back up at him, he is smiling at me with all that friendly warmth I’ve come to associate him with.

The smile is contagious. My lips twitch upward.

“Like what you see?” he asks, green eyes shimmering behind his black-framed glasses. He looks… _hot_ , like that. Like a hot librarian. I always have this urge to kiss him until the glasses fall off, which is odd because I’ve never had such an urge before.

“Yes,” I answer truthfully, giving his hand a squeeze, attempting to keep the squeeze in check because I can hurt him easily. I don’t realize I’m applying too much pressure half the time, and I don’t like hurting him.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, his expression softening, the smile fading to a soft spread of his lips. “You have to get up early.”

He’s right, of course; I work an early shift tomorrow. I have to be up at six. It’s already eleven.

I don’t care.

I sit up and reach for his book, lightly pulling it from his hand. He grins all the while, easily letting me take it from him. I’m careful to shove the bookmark into place before I close it and put it on my bedside table. We each have our own, for our own private things.

Then I’m scooting closer to him, reaching for him. My fingers find purchase on the front of his shirt – a thin, baggy material which is rather comfortable – and tug him toward me. He comes easily, his fingers sliding up my neck toward my hair. I know this only because I see his arms moving. He pulls somewhat harshly at the strands, and I smile because I can feel it only then. It’s not painful; it never is. But it’s something to feel, and I like it.

Our mouths meet, hot and fast, and he tastes like he always does – like _him_. And it is my favorite taste. Better than popcorn, better than food. Better than any dessert.

He is my favorite taste, my favorite pillow, my favorite cover.

I’m too attached, and I know it. If I keep this up, I’ll start to truly fall for him. He’s already admitted he’s falling for me. I’ve never fallen for someone before – never felt the urge to try.

Now I’m teetering on the edge.

“Move in with me,” he says against my mouth, and _something_ runs up my spine, and I can’t stop smiling.

“I have a perfectly good apartment,” I tell him all the same.

He pulls back, smiling at me. “Yes, but my place is better.”

“It is,” I agree with a quiet chuckle.

“And you’re already living here anyway.”

I pause, and realize he is telling the truth.

I haven’t returned to my apartment in weeks. My toothbrush is here, I have two drawers filled with my clothes, closet space, my own _pillow_ is here…

This is home.

It has been for a while.

“Okay,” I say, pulling him back toward me. “I’ll move in.”

His tongue slips across my lips and my teeth, and I fall over the edge.

Falling isn’t so bad.

xXx

It’s been five months, two weeks, four days, thirteen hours, and about a million seconds since we got together. It’s been one month, one week, and two days since I moved in with him, wholly and truly. My lease on my apartment runs out at the end of the month, and then I’m free of that place.

It’s getting warm out; the rainy season has stopped for the most part, and summer is almost here. The better the weather, the more Liam and I go for a walk around town. We used to do this all the time, back before we got together, as Liam points out. So I have no real reason to complain. Other than his condition, but neither of us brings it up.

Currently we are along a river toward the edge of town. It is a beautiful day, birds are chirping in the trees, kids are playing in the park across the street from the river, and Liam’s hand is in mine.

I feel almost giddy.

I have never felt like this before.

Liam won’t stop smiling at me.

“What?” I ask, tossing him a quick glance.

“You’re adorable,” he says with that little laugh of his as he brings his free hand up to cup my face, turning my head more toward him. His eyes are bright and happy, and I grin.

“Adorable, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Not handsome or anything?”

“Adorable.”

I laugh. “Not sexy?”

There’s a playful glint in his eyes. I enjoy seeing it. “Well, let’s not get hasty. You’re awfully sexy for being so adorable.”

I laugh again, louder this time, and twist toward him, bringing us to a halt. My arms wrap around the back of his neck and I tug him toward me, our mouths meeting easily enough. He releases this pleased, surprised sound and wraps his arms around me tightly, so I can feel it. He’s getting so good at that, really – making me feel every touch. How he has the patience for this kind of thing, I’ll never know, but he’s so good at it.

He’s so patient, and attentive, and caring.

We break apart from the kiss and he rests his forehead against mine, eyes twinkling as he smiles softly. This warm, sincere smile I always love to see.

“I’ve fallen so hard for you, Kevin,” he tells me in that soft, warm voice of his, with that wonderful accent.

I’m giddy all over again.

My sister said she knew she was in love when her husband consumed her every thought, when she worried about him when he was away from her, and counted the seconds until he returned. She knew she was in love when simple conversations became the highlight of her day.

I don’t know about love; I’ve never felt it before, so I have nothing to compare it to. Never felt it outside of my family, anyway. So I don’t know if I love him, but I do know I adore him. I like him, enjoy spending time with him, and in the end that’s all that matters.

Because what is love, anyway? Is there a real and true definition? What makes it love?

“I’ve fallen for you too,” I say, my voice just as quiet as his.

Love is something confusing, unfamiliar; I’ve never felt it before.

But I do know what it’s like to fall.

And I’ve fallen for him.

xXx

I wake to his mouth against mine. At first I am confused, and shocked, but then I’m grinning as I eagerly kiss him back to the best of my ability. Kissing is still complicated to me; I’m never sure if I’m doing it right.

If I’m doing it wrong, he’s certainly not complaining. Instead he sits back with this smug grin on his face, and I push my arms under me to follow him up. He rests a hand on my chest, hinting that I should stay down, and I do.

“I want to show you something,” he says, grinning. “Something beautiful.”

I like my suddenly dry lips, watching him and that pleased expression on his lips. His wet lips. “Oh?”

He nods and slips off of me, and I realize then that my pants have been pulled down. Not only that, but the underwear has been pushed down as well, past my thighs and knees, resting along my shins. I stare down the length of my body as I push my arms under me again, and he lets me sit up.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asks somewhat breathlessly.

My cock is hard, and seeping, and wet. Wet like his lips. I haven’t seen it hard in such a long time, and I certainly have never seen it like _this_. Hard and swollen and wet from his mouth. Those same lips that kissed me.

“How did you…?” I manage to whisper, staring down at my hardness.

He laughs, this light, happy sound, and I tear my gaze away to look at him. His eyes are bright with mirth, he has this pleased grin on his face. “I have my ways,” he says somewhat cryptically, even as a hand reaches out and rubs at the stubble on my jawline. I can’t feel the touch because it’s not hard enough, but I can see it.

I like it when he touches me.

Even if I can’t feel it.

And after years of celibacy, of never even trying to do anything to truly give myself release… after years of trying to even get an erection…

Liam has given me one.

Without me even knowing, but that isn’t the point. The point is that I have one, and I do feel… _something_ in my stomach. Something that makes me feel giddy all over again.

His fingers reach out and glide over the head of my cock. The movement is harsh and a little rough; it causes my cock to bounce up against my stomach, twitching, but I actually-

My eyes widen. “I _felt_ that,” I gasp, scrambling to sit up even more, as his hand grasps the length of my shaft, keeping me in place.

“Did you?” he asks, sounding almost giddy himself.

I’m in shock and can’t answer him at the moment.

I’ve tried so hard to feel something – anything – down there that I gave up trying. It never works. And now… I felt something. It wasn’t much, only just there and it might just be in my head, but it felt… good. Like something was actually there instead of just the pressure. Something warm and amazing and-

I throw my arms around Liam’s neck and pull him into a deep, hot kiss.

Trying to get him to see all the things I can’t say right now.

All the things I can’t find the words to express.

Things like:

_I’ve fallen so hard for you._

_I love you._

Because this is what my sister was trying to tell me.

This is that bubbly, giddy feeling.

xXx

Love, I realize, is amazing.

Love is smiling whenever a text comes in from him.

Love is laughing at his jokes even if they’re silly and stupid, because it’s _him_ saying them and that’s all that really matters.

Love is coming home to an apartment full of sweet smells because he’s cooking in the kitchen, and he is an awesome cook. He is good at his job.

“Hey,” he says, looking up from where he stands in front of the stove, stirring something. It smells amazing, and I see the red on the large spoon as he pulls it out of the pot.

“Oh, God, tell me that’s chili,” I say, mouth salivating at the thought, because it smells absolutely amazing and I’m hungry. It’s been a long day, and this… I love coming home to this.

He grins. “It is, love.”

I freeze at his new little nickname. He has never said it before. He’s watching me with this lazy smile, looking all sorts of comfortable in his sweatpants and hoodie even though it’s hot outside – but chilly inside because of the AC he keeps on for my benefit – as he holds the spoon out for me.

“Wanna lick it?” he asks.

I choke out this little laugh and bring my mouth toward the spoon, but he pulls it out of my reach, more toward him.

“It’s hot,” he warns me.

“I don’t feel pain.”

He scowls, this adorable twisting of his features. “That’s no reason to burn your mouth. I like your mouth how it is.”

My face is burning, but I laugh anyway. I nod that I’ll be careful, and he puts the spoon back toward my mouth. I lick at the broth left on it and smile, because it tastes awesome.

He smiles, pleased, and turns back toward the stove.

Love is tasting food in the kitchen, and pleased little smiles and laughs.

I sit at the table, knowing it will be done within the next few minutes because he always plans it out that way. I always come home around roughly the same time, give or take a few minutes.

“I got your medicine,” I say, looking at the pills I put on the table when I came into the kitchen. He didn’t notice them.

He turns back toward me and the table, a frown on his face.

“Why?”

I shrug. “It was on my way.”

He narrows his eyes on me. “That’s a lie and you know it. You work on the other side of town.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Whatever, I got them.”

“I could have picked them up tomorrow.”

I scowl unintentionally at the thought. He would pick them up by _walking_ to get them. Walking is good, I know this, but it’s hot out and he walks everywhere. The heat isn’t good for people with heart conditions. He needs to stay inside where there’s AC so he doesn’t get overheated, and this would be fine if he would just get a car.

“Kevin – you don’t have to worry about me, mate,” he says with a heavy sigh, watching me.

I shrug. “I just thought I’d be nice and get them for you.”

“You’ve gotten them the last three times.”

This is true. He’s always taken them without complaint, but he does give me odd looks. He knows I’m worried, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.

“It’s a long walk to the drug store,” I say in my defense. “And it’s hot out. I was being nice.”

He watches me for a long moment, before he shrugs and turns back toward the stove, turning off the burner. “Food’s done, love.”

I grin and get to my feet, moving to grab two bowls.

Love is doing something for him even if he doesn’t want me to.

Love is feeling myself relax whenever he calls me ‘love’.

Love is amazing.

xXx

Love is worry mixed with fear.

It starts with a cough.

He comes home late one day, after stopping at the store on his way home. It’s hot and muggy out after having rained earlier today. As he’s putting his items down on the kitchen table, he covers his mouth as he coughs.

It’s brief, but it happens again a few seconds later.

I’m at his side before he can realize I’m moving.

Taking the rest of his items out of his arms and quickly putting them on the table as I watch him, frowning.

“I’m fine,” he says, smiling at me.

And then he sneezes.

And sniffles.

Two days later he’s still coughing and sniffling and complains of a headache.

Liam has a cold.

How do you even get a cold in the summer? It’s August.

How does that even happen?

Liam is sick.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he complains as I push another pillow behind his back, leveraging him up into a comfortable sitting position as he’s laid sprawled out on the couch. He refused to stay in the bedroom because it’s movie night, so I’m getting him comfortable out here. “Where are you going to sit, then?”

I shrug and sit near his shins, on the outer edge of the cushions.

He frowns. “That doesn’t look comfy, love.”

Love is getting a thrill every time he calls me that.

Love is worrying when he starts to cough again.

He bats away the glass of water I hold out, scowling at it. “I’m fine, Kevin, it’s just a cold.”

“We can reschedule movie night,” I tell him for what has to be the tenth time in the past two hours. I’ve tried over and over to get him to stay in bed, but he won’t do it.

He refuses to do that just as much as he refuses to go to the doctor.

“What movie are we watching?” he asks instead of answering, because we both know what his answer is going to be.

I take in a slow breath and grab a random movie from his little pile. Some of these we’ve seen a few times, some we haven’t seen at all. He rents new ones to add to his little collection for movie night, even though we only watch one, maybe two.

Love is enjoying the fact he does this.

I put in a random DVD and sit with him on the couch. He sighs and curls his legs up, giving me room at the end of the couch. I know he isn’t going to bother hogging the couch like I want him to, so I slide into the empty space and hit ‘play’ on the menu screen.

We don’t need popcorn.

In fact I don’t like him eating popcorn anymore, even though it’s a bit of a ritual.

Popcorn is high in sodium which is bad for the heart.

I don’t say this to him, though.

He doesn’t want me to worry about him, and he wants me to treat him like I did before I knew he had a heart condition.

I want to give him that, but I can’t.

I can’t treat him like I did then, because now that I know…

Now that I care about him so much…

“Kevin,” he calls to me.

I look over at him. He smiles.

“Come down here with me.”

I want to say no – he will be more comfortable on his own. But I don’t argue, because I can’t deny him anything when his face is so pale and his eyes are a little glazed. I hate that look so much. So I lay down next to him on the couch, keeping my head near his neck so I don’t block his view of the TV, and curl into his warmth.

Love is being unable to deny him anything even if it’s for his own good.

Love is grabbing his hand when it reaches around my stomach.

Love is holding on even when he coughs.

xXx

Love is relief mixed with joy when he gets better.

After four days of being sick, the cough is gone, his nose isn’t stuffy anymore, and he grins at me like he always does. I roll over and kiss him, letting all my relief through in that motion, all the words I can’t say.

He laughs and we lay there for a little bit.

Love is hearing him laugh as I fail at making pancakes for breakfast.

Love is listening to him hum as he corrects my mistakes.

I laugh and kiss him on the corner of his mouth as he puts the pancakes on the plates, and realize how domesticated we’ve become. We’ve slipped seamlessly into domesticity, and it’s great.

I have no complaints at all.

Love is enjoying the simple life together.

xXx

Love is getting ready for work together.

Love is kissing him as I drop him off at his work before heading to mine.

Love is getting texts from him whenever he’s on break.

**_From: Liam 11:43am_ **

**_Its dead here love_ **

**_Hope your days better_ **

_To: Liam 12:26pm_

_Its slow here too baby_

Love is finding joy in calling him something other than his name.

**_From: Liam 12:47pm_ **

**_Oh baby huh_ **

**_I like it ;)_ **

**_Miss you_ **

_To: Liam 2:17pm_

_Miss you too_

Love is shamelessly telling him I miss him.

Love is returning home to find him waiting in the living room.

Love is having him take me to the bedroom.

Love is watching myself grow hard in his hand.

“Oh, God,” I gasp, watching as he takes me into his mouth. I can’t feel it too much, but I can definitely feel his tongue moving, and seeing him do this is just amazing.

He hums pleasantly in the back of his throat. The vibrations do something to me even though I can’t really feel it myself, but my cock twitches in his mouth and I’m moaning at the little sounds he’s making as his head bobs up and down.

Love is watching his half-lidded eyes as he looks at me.

Love is finding release for the first time in years, and watching him lick it all up like a little, beautiful puppy.

Love is falling into bed together.

Love is waking up to hot kisses and warm laughs.

“Good morning,” he says to me, grinning down at me as he straddles my waist. The pressure feels nice, his thighs on either side of me.

“Morning,” I reply.

He leans his head down, his lips brushing against my ear. I don’t feel it so much as hear his breath which causes me to shiver a little. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Below me,” he replies quietly, and then he pulls back and his mouth is on mine again.

Love is laughing and turning him over so I’m on top.

Love is looking down into his green eyes as he tucks a few stray stands of hair behind my ear.

“Feel that?” he asks.

I grab his wrist and bring his hand to my mouth, kissing at the knuckles as his fingers flex instinctively.

“I feel you,” I tell him quietly.

I feel him, and that’s all that matters.

Love is feeling him all around me even when he’s right in front of me.

xXx

Love is watching him wake up from a nap on the couch, his head on my shoulder.

He’s fallen asleep during movie night again, like he sometimes does after a long day of work. I don’t mind in the slightest. I just wrap and arm around him and let him doze. He always wakes toward the middle or end of the movie, depending on when he falls asleep.

His green eyes blink open and he smiles at me.

“I fall asleep again?”

“Yeah,” I say, smirking. “It’s okay, you didn’t miss much.”

He chuckles and kisses me quickly on the cheek before he gets out of our warm cocoon on the couch. It’s getting colder outside, now the middle of October. Halloween will be here soon.

Liam’s been eying pumpkins.

I follow him out of the living room since the movie is over, and find him making popcorn.

“Movie’s over, baby,” I say, feeling a thrill creep through me every time I call him that.

He looks at me and smiles. “I slept through the popcorn part, love.”

I step toward him and grab his wrist, stopping him from putting the bag in the microwave. Instead I entwine our fingers and kiss his nose, which causes him to scrunch his face as he looks at me cross-eyed for a moment.

“Come shower with me,” I tell him.

He gets this giant grin and nods, the bag of popcorn forgotten as he leads me out of the room with our combined hands.

Love is watching him strip in the bathroom, and watching his eyes brighten when he sees me do the same.

I run hands down a body I can’t really feel, but it makes him sigh happily and that’s all that matters. He runs his own hands along my body but it’s all feather-light touches that cause me to shiver – my body responds even if I can’t feel it – but otherwise I don’t know he’s moving his hands at all.

“Kevin,” he says in this deep, breathy voice which immediately leaves me swallowing. His eyes find mine and there’s this soft, tentative smile on his face. “I love you.”

The breath slips free of my lungs like he’s just hugged the life out of me, and I stare at him.

I know he loves me, and I love him, but this is something we have never said. We have never mentioned it.

But now he’s said it, and I’m left looking like a floundering fish.

His smile falters. “Kevin?”

I swallow, unable to find my voice, and quickly pull him toward me, kissing him fervently, trying to get him to realize what I can’t say. My voice doesn’t want to work, and I can’t say the words.

Love is having him understand the meaning behind my actions.

He wraps his arms around me and hold me like he doesn’t want to let go.

We step into the shower as one person.

Love is holding on and never letting go.

xXx

Love is terror and bad dreams.

I come awake gasping, the image of disturbed dirt and chiseled stone filling my mind as I cough and suck needed air into my lungs. Air that’s not poisoned with the scent of rain and fresh graves.

I don’t realize I’m crying until Liam wipes tears from my eyes with his thumb, his expression open and concerned, but he doesn’t say anything. He just wipes the tears away, and pulls me into a hug. He just holds me, and I sink into his embrace, wishing I could actually feel it like a normal person.

I miss hugs the most, I think.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t ask if I had a nightmare.

He just holds me, and I breathe in his scent which washes away that terrible scent of freshly disturbed dirt. He holds me and I breathe until I feel like me.

Love is lying back down with my head on his chest, listening to every little beat of his heart.

xXx

Love is anger mixed with hurt.

Love is fear turned to panic.

“Kevin, you have to stop worrying about me,” Liam says almost pleadingly, his hands holding onto my arm.

I scowl at him, shaking him off. “I’m _sorry_ , but it’s hard, okay? You have no concern for you own life.”

He stares at me for a moment. “No concern for…? Are you kidding me?”

Now his eyes narrow, and I take in a slow breath.

“This is the second cold you’ve had,” I tell him through clenched teeth.

It’s the beginning of November, and he’s sick again.

His voice is rough and scratchy, his breaths are shaky when he coughs, and I’ve lied awake with my head on his chest, listening to his heart stutter as he coughs in his sleep.

I’m not worried.

I’m _scared_.

“It’s just a cold,” he says, glaring at me. “Colds happen. Everyone gets them!”

“This is the second one.”

“I told you my immune system is shit.”

He did say that.

He also said something else was shit. Something much more important.

“You said your heart’s shit too,” I mutter, watching him.

He sighs, dragging a hand over his pale face. He looks so tired, dark rings around his eyes, his face sunken and pale. I just want him to lie down. Instead we are in the kitchen and he looks like he’s about to collapse at any moment, but he won’t sit down.

He has taken the phone from me.

He’s also absconded with my cell phone and I don’t know where it is.

“Kevin… Love, I’m fine.”

“You’re not!” I snap, because I’m tired of him saying that. For three days he’s said that over and over and it’s not true. “You’re not fine, dammit. Just… go to the doctor.”

I just want to call the doctor.

He won’t let me.

He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a harsh coughing fit. He doubles over at the waist, clutching his stomach and chest as he coughs violently. The sound is rough and harsh but all I can do is stare at his chest.

He’s clutching his chest.

_Oh, God._

I hurry forward and catch him as his legs give way, holding him up with an arm around his waist, holding him to me as I bring his arm up around my neck and shoulders. I’m not sure who is shaking more as we leave the room – him or me. I take him to the couch and allow him to sit. He hunches forward, still coughing, his breaths shaky as the coughing fit finally stops, and his hand is still on his chest.

“Stay with me,” I breathe, but there’s little sound behind the words as I put my hand over his own, the hand over his chest, and look around the room. “Where’d you put the phone, Liam?”

He drags in a few shaky breaths and sighs heavily. “I’m fine.”

I round on him, staring down at him with wide eyes. “No, you’re _not_!”

Has he not seen where he’s holding?

“Can you breathe okay? How’s your chest?” I ask, kneeling in front of him, something thick in my throat. It’s hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. If it’s this hard for me it had to be worse for him.

His eyes are glazed when they land on me. Glazed and tired. “Kevin,” he says slowly, scanning over my face. “I’m fine. I promise. It’s just a cold.”

I shake my head. “Where’s the phone? _Any_ phone?”

No. There’s no time for that.

I grab his arm. “Let’s go to the car,” I tell him.

We’ll go to the car and I can drive him to the hospital.

He’ll be okay.

“Love, I’m okay,” he says quietly, his voice still shaky and rough from all the coughing, nails against a chalkboard.

“No,” I say, swallowing as I watch him. “You’re not okay. _This_ isn’t okay.”

His hand has fallen away from his chest, slipped away from mine, but mine remains. My fingers curl around the fabric of his hoodie, over his heart. I can’t feel it, and I want to. I want to feel it. Need to. I know it has to be racing.

He brings both of his hands up to cup my face, causing me to look away from his chest and back toward his face.

“My eyes are up here, love,” he says with a soft smile.

I want to snap at him for joking.

I want to hate him for not caring about his health right now.

Instead I laugh – this rough, strangled sound which leaves him bringing his forehead to rest against my own, his eyes falling closed. I may not be able to feel much, but I can definitely feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Please,” I find myself whispering as my own eyes fall closed. My other hand has slipped around him, dragging him closer so that I’m practically holding him even as I kneel in front of him. “Please. Let me take you to the hospital, or… or call a doctor.”

It’s been days and he’s not getting any better.

He’s only getting worse.

The coughing is getting worse and he’s already clutching at his chest.

“Please,” I say again, my voice just as quiet as before.

“Okay,” he finally sighs, causing me to open my eyes, our foreheads still resting together. “If it will make you happy. I’ll go to the doctor in the morning if they can schedule me in.”

The sound I release is supposed to be a relieved sigh.

It sounds more like a sob.

Love is worrying so much it becomes its own pain.

xXx

Love is pacing back and forth in the waiting room at the doctor’s office.

It’s been thirty minutes since Liam disappeared through the large brown doors, called away by an assistant who is taking him to the doctor. I’m left in a waiting room filled with people waiting to be seen, and other people waiting on people to get out. Everyone here is waiting.

As the minutes pass my pacing speeds up.

Love is having a thirty minute wait feel like an eternity.

Finally – _finally_ – Liam steps out of those doors and I’m at his side in an instant. He blinks at me, obviously still out of it, his eyes still a little too glazed, but he smiles.

Love is being grounded by a single, tired smile.

My hands find his arm as I latch on, leading him out of the waiting room and away from prying eyes.

“So?” I ask as we get in the elevator to go back to the ground floor. He’s carrying papers in his hand. “What’d they say?”

“Common chest cold,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I told you it was nothing.”

“ _Chest_ cold,” I tell him. “ _Chest_. Don’t you think that’s important?”

He shrugs, and I nod toward the papers.

“What are those?”

“More pills,” he says with a sigh, eying the papers distastefully. “I feel like a druggie.”

He has to take so many pills already.

“Those aren’t going to react with anything, will they?”

He shrugs again. “Hope not.”

Irritation sparks through me. “Dammit, Liam, could you at least _pretend_ to care about your health?”

He flashes me a bright smile as the elevator doors open. “That’s what you’re here for, love.”

And then he steps out of the elevator, and I drag in a slow breath before following after him.

Love is always following him.

xXx

Love is listening to his heart beat as he falls asleep.

The beautiful, rhythmic sound.

The most cherished sound, really.

It is perfect and wonderful and it’s the only thing that matters.

I lay there for hours, unable to sleep. His cold is almost gone, for which I am thankful, but there’s always this nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

Finally, I close my eyes, and dream.

I dream of death.

Of chiseled stone, freshly disturbed dirt.

Of a name written in stone.

_Here Lies Liam Jones_

_1991-_

I come awake choking and gasping.

Instantly Liam is there, wiping away my tears. Tears I don’t know are even falling until then.

I wrap my arms around him and crush him to me, burying my face in his shoulder. My ear rests against the pulse point in his neck, and I listen.

Listen to his pulse.

Listen to each beat.

Each glorious little beat.

“I love you,” I murmur into his shoulder.

He stiffens around me, but then he’s kissing my forehead. Or what little he can access like this, anyway.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I love you too, Kevin.”

I release a shaky breath and hold him tighter. I force myself to loosen the hold because I don’t want to hurt him. I never want to hurt him.

We’ve been together almost a year, and I finally said ‘I love you’.

And it’s true.

I love everything about him. All the ups and downs. All the worry and fears, all the laughter and smiles, every little thing about him.

“I love you,” I say again, because I like the sound of it.

He chuckles. It’s a warm rumble beneath me.

I pull my head back and kiss him.

Love is perfect and broken all at once.

Love is laughter mixed with tears.

Love is having someone to come home to every night.

Love is breakfast in bed, trips to the doctor, and watching movies on the couch.

Love is simple domesticity.

Love is being content.

 


End file.
